


Melting

by baldoldman



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya gives no fucks, Arya's arya af, F/M, Gendry's royal af, If You Squint - Freeform, he loves her, i guess, sandor and sansa are doing their own thing, she really should be charged with treason, she threatens to kill the prince a lot, who cares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5941477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baldoldman/pseuds/baldoldman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya is visting the Red Keep with her family. Here she meets Gendry Baratheon, the most bull-headed, frustrating and impossible Prince to ever live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arya Meets The Prince

Arya despised the carriage. She wanted to be out and about, riding horseback beside Robb and her father. Or she wanted to be back in Winterfell with her natural born brother, Jon Snow. Alas, it was deemed inappropriate for a 'young lady' such as herself to be in breeches when they reached King's Landing and greeted the King. Especially if she was to be the daughter of the King's Hand.

Catelyn Stark was battling sleep. Her eyes where drooping, and her usually rod straight back was slouching. The ride from Winterfell had been tiring, as she was kept awake by the uncomfortable bumps of the King's Road and the thoughts of her youngests, Bran and Rickon, back in Winterfell without a parent.

Sansa was as excited as a toddler on her name day. She had drawn back all the curtains, and flitted along the bench she occupied to look through whichever window she deemed more exciting. As soon as they entered King's Landing, however, she drew close one of the curtains and sat as still and straight as Catelyn would have...if she were completely awake.

When her eyes landed on what must be The Red Keep, Arya nudged her mother, a little harshly out of spite, since it had been a lot of Catelyn's doing to bring Arya along. Cat was convinced being around more royal, pompous asses would have a positive affect on Arya's ladylike behaviours...or lake thereof. 

Soon enough, the carriage stopped. Arya jumped out right away, before Harwin could even give her a hand.

Her first reaction was the sudden heat from the beating sun. Her thick Winterfell gown became itchy and sweaty by the time she reached her father, who was at the front of their procession with Robb.

Ned waited for Catelyn and Sansa to catch up before striding up to his old friend, King Robert.

"You've gotten fat." The King addressed Ned when he was barely three feet away.

Arya's eyebrows knitted in accusation, as the King himself was twice the width of her father.

"As have you," Ned replied. There was silence which Arya was unsure of at first, but then suddenly King Robert busted out laughing. They embraced like the old friends they are.

"My wife, Cersei," Robert announced, gesturing to the sour looking woman to his left. Ned stooped and kisses her hand.

"My eldest son, Prince Gendry." He continues.

Ned froze at the dark haired prince. He was built like an ox, and had strong arms that could be seen easily through his thick tunic. Arya was amazed to see no sweat stains, convinced she was already drenched.

As the Prince was being scanned by Ned, he scanned the Starks. His eyes swept over Catelyn, lingered on Sansa, compared Sansa to her look alike mother, then found 14 year old Arya. She made sure to jut out her chin and broaden her shoulders, so maybe her small frame could be slightly menacing.

"Gods..." Ned looked like he'd seen a ghost, forgetting his manners for a moment.

"I know? Isn't he just the spitting image of me in my day?" The King declares with amusement.

King Robert went on to introduce a grimacing golden headed boy called Joffrey, a curly haired girl and a much kinder looking, round boy.

Arya was already being led away with Sansa by Jory and a young Lannister squire, so she didn't even catch the last two's names.

They were led to an amazingly large chamber. As soon as Sansa stopped fretting over the gorgeousness of the airy balcony and massive bed, she threw herself down on it.

"And did you SEE Prince Gendry?!? Isn't he just beautiful!" She gushes.

Arya rolls her eyes, peeling off her layers until she stands in small clothes. She finds herself still overheated even in this state of undress, and becomes cranky immediately, thinking of the cool snow in Winterfell.

"Sansa, I thought you'd have grown out of your ridiculousness at six and ten!" Arya whines.

They wait around for a while longer, as Sansa undoes and brushes her northern braid out of her long Tully hair. Arya lies out on the cool stone floors, welcoming a short nap as she dreams of the dragon bones she plans on visiting later (one of the only positives to this trip).

They expect their mother, or Jory, or maybe a hand maiden to come and call them down to the Stark welcoming feast.

When there's a knock on the door many minutes later, an unfamiliar squire calls through the door.

"Ladies Sansa and Arya, Prince Gendry awaits without." He announces.

"Come in!" Sansa declares immediately, focused on sweeping her freshly brushed mane around her shoulder seductively.

Arya jerks up, insults spewing at Sansa for ignoring her indecency.

Before she can order the squire to freeze, the door is swung open, and in strides Prince Gendry.

He's smiling a charming smile that Arya is SURE he practices in the mirror, until he notices her apparel.

"Oh! My apologies, my lady, I was under the impression you were decent." He explains, although he doesn't turn around, nor even take his blue eyes off of Arya's blooming body.

She grabs the nearest thing to her, and throws it at the Prince's head.

"Shut up and turn around, stupid!" She commands, ignoring the grin growing on his face as he clutches the pillow she threw. The squire is dark haired and shorter than Gendry, and already had the sense to avert his eyes.

"Arya! Apologize immediately!" Sansa snaps at her sister.

"I will apologize to anyone! It's your stupid fault, and his bull-head that won't stop laughing!" Arya cries, snatching a book of the night stand and biffing that at the Prince's back, which is shaking with laughter.

"Your grace!" Sansa squeals, rushing up to Gendry. He still can't stop laughing, although Sansa is all seriousness as she tries to apologize.

Arya yanks on breeches and a tunic, before stomping barefoot past Gendry, Sansa and the young squire, her mind set on some frightening dragon skulls to distract herself.


	2. Arya and Not The Dragon Skulls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's disappearance holds up the feast.

The rumored dragon skulls were much harder to find than expected. Arya knew they were hidden well away, but the only places she could find big enough to contain such magnificent bones simply weren't hidden away.  
Before she came close to finding them, someone found her.

He made no secret of approaching her. They were in a completely empty wing of The Red Keep, but she could hear him clopping around for minutes before she actually saw his face.

At first glance, Arya swore it was the Queen wearing armor. Upon a second glance, she noticed some peculiarity that announced it must be her twin brother, Jaime.

He wore golden armor and the white cape of the King's Guard. He was quite beautiful, as he should be, sharing his features with the Queen.

"Arya Stark?" He says, unsure.

"The Queen in her brother's armor?" Arya replies.

Jaime grins, letting out a dry laugh.

"Strangely enough, at first glance you reminded me of the Queen too. She used to run around in boy's clothes."

Arya didn't enjoy the comparison to the sour faced Queen.

"So you've hunted me down. What now? Will you kill and skin me, for a pelt?" Arya's hair tie quit on her an hour ago, her sweaty hair is sticking to her face unpleasantly, and did she mention she misses snow?

"Quite the contrary. I came to get you dressed and fed." He explains. "The feast is delayed in you honor, my lady."

"I'm not a lady." She replies.

"Clearly. A lady would be much more respectful of others time." Jaime cocks an eyebrow.

"I didn't ask anyone to delay the feast for me! And they hardly should, for one daughter. That's stupid." Arya rolls her eyes.

"Oh, I was referring to the Prince's time." Jaime smirks.

Arya's face sours, but she doesn't get a chance to retort as Jaime continues.

"He was scouring The Red Keep up until a few minutes ago, searching for you."

Arya furrows her brow. "How is that my fault?"

Jaime grabs her hand and loops it through his elbow, to begin leading her back to her chambers. Arya jerks her hand away, and he chuckles, but she follows anyway.

"He was set on finding you and apologizing. He was very bashful, and wouldn't tell me anything, except for that he hadn't been very 'Princely'."

"Well, he wasn't very bashful when Sansa let him into our chambers whilst I was only in my small clothes." Arya mutters. She didn't feel much shame in retelling the incident, only some hatred for the Prince.

"Oh?" Jaime grins.

"He wouldn't stop looking at me until I hit him." Arya shakes her head. As much as she distrusted the people of King's Landing, Jaime Lannister didn't seem too bad. Besides, she was still quite confused. She'd flowered three months ago, yet still didn't understand everything.

"Well you can't blame him, he's still clinging to his maidenhead." Jaime jokes. "Yours is probably the only lady's body he's seen."

"I'm not a lady." Arya snaps. "And I wasn't naked."

"I'm sure you were close enough for him."

Arya wasn't quite sure if he was saying she was close enough to a lady, or close enough to naked, but even still, she began to regret pressing the subject. All the talk of her body and the Prince looking at it was making her stomach turn, especially since she was discussing it with a much older man.

Arya stays silent for a moment, and soon enough she begins recognizing the corridors. She walks ahead, thinking maybe Jaime Lannister would take the hint, but he kept behind her. When she reaches her chamber door, Jory was waiting outside for her.

"Is my father cross?" She asks Jory hesitantly.

"I wouldn't know, my lady. I've been looking about for you myself." He explains. "There's a hand maid inside, best hurry up,"

The hand maid is clearly disgruntled with Arya's appearance, and immediately strips her. She does a quick spot scrub around Arya's face and hands, before combing her hair and pulling it into a tight southern nest.

There's a green dress with less layers waiting for her and as soon as she has it on, her handmaid kicks her out.


	3. Arya Is Engaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is escorted to the feast

There was no Jory awaiting Arya outside her chamber when her hand maid is finished with her, nor a Lannister. There was, however, a future King, leaning lamely against a stone wall directly across from Arya's door.

"Lady Arya!" Gendry exclaims upon seeing her appear. He straightens his back and approaches her. "You look very beautiful,"

"No, I look uncomfortable." She grabs at the ridiculously tight bodice, and tries to stretch it out, but it does nothing. "Now, if you don't mind, I've been delaying a stupid feast."

She begins walking swiftly away, as the Prince catches up.

"My lady, I wish to apologize-"

"Shut up. I'm not a lady, and you're just a stupid boy. If it's anyone's fault, it's Sansa's, for being totally ridiculous." Arya cuts in. "Now just shut up, Your Grace"

She can feel herself reddening, trying to ignore the fact that this man standing next to her saw her in just her small clothes! The last time any male saw her anything less was swimming in the Gods Wood with Bran years ago.

"However, I'm still sorry for it." Gendry declares.

Arya rolls her eyes, but doesn't reply, picking up her pace.

When they come upon the massive oak doors leading to the chattering hall, Gendry pauses, holding Arya's wrist.

"It would be an honour to escort you, my lady."

She shoves his chest.

"Don't call me my lady!" She growls.

"As my lady commands," he bows, grinning.

Arya shoves him harder, causing him to stumble. He nearly falls on his butt, but one of the guards at the door grab his arm to steady him, as the other draws his sword at Arya.

"You shouldn't be handling a future King like that, my lady," the guard growls. 

"No, no, Ser Meryn. Lady Arya was just accepting my escort to the feast." Gendry explains, smirking at Arya.

Arya scoffs, but has to accept his arm, resting her hand in the crook of his elbow.

"You're a foul Prince." Arya murmurs, as the large doors swing open in front of her. Gendry chuckles. It only infuriates Arya further. 

"Prince Gendry and Lady Arya of Winterfell!" A cryer announces as they enter.

Arya finds all of the hungry, waiting faces turn to her. She tries to ignore the many lower people seated at long tables stretched along the hall, and focuses on the two small tables at the head of it.

The larger but lower table holds Sansa, the Princess and the other two Princes, among other high lords and ladies. The very top has the Queen, her brothers Jaime and the Imp, Ned And Catelyn Stark.

On the most Center of that table, in a large plush throne is Robert Baratheon.

Upon lying his eyes on Arya, he rose as fast as a man of his size can, knocking over his third empty wine goblet in the process.

Everyone's attention is torn between Arya and Gendry and the King. Arya looks at her father in confusion, but Ned looks only slightly less confused as her.

"Lyanna," King Robert murmurs, words slurred. "She's come back to me."

That brings excited whispers through the crowd, and a sour look to the Queen's beautiful face. Ned rises, speaking quietly to Robert, but is only shoved away with the King's drunken strength.

"That is my daughter, Robert. Arya. Lyanna is still in the crypts at Winterfell." Ned says, louder, to get Robert's attention.

Confusion muddles the King's face.

"How cruel." He shakes his head. "It is Lyanna and I, as we once were!" He points angrily at Arya and Gendry, slowly sinking back into his seat, disgruntled, still staring at them.

Arya had been compared to her aunt many times before. But Lyanna was always beautiful in the tales. Beautiful enough to start a war. The wine had clearly blinded the King.

Gendry begins quickly leading Arya to her seat, even though it is still many feet away.

Before he can get her there, the King has risen again, a bright look on his face, like he's just had the best idea in the world.

"We shall join our houses!" He exclaims. The meaning misses Arya for just a moment, but when she understands, she grips Gendry's arm painfully tight.

"No." She curses under her breath.

"Your daughter shall wed my son!" Robert declares, joyous and happy. "Now let us feast!"

The tables around her began to dig in happily, having enjoyed their bit of entertainment. Hesitantly, the Baratheons, Lannisters and Starks at the front of the hall do too.

Arya stays frozen in anger.

Gendry is unsure what to do, but can feel Arya's grip growing tighter and panicked.

"Don't." Gendry murmurs softly. "Just, don't."

Arya is no more sure of what she was about to do than Gendry, but she heeds his words, allowing him to lead her to her seat between Sansa and Tommen.

She doesn't eat, and can feel two pairs of blue eyes watching her intently through the laughter and happiness. One belonging to her future husband, and the other to her future good father.

"Eat." Sansa demands unhappily.

Arya doesn't reply.


	4. Arya is Hopeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya tries to undo the King's declaration at the feast.

Late the next morning, the shock has passed and Arya storms to her father's tower of the Hand.

"You can't let him do this. I don't want to be married, much less to the stupid Prince!" She exclaims, storming past Jory and throwing the door open into his solar, unwelcome.

"Arya!" She hears her father's stern voice snap.

She freezes, upon noticing his solar is already full of guests.

King Robert is sunken into a chair across from Ned, already drunk again. Cersei sits beside him, her face growing contempt. The Prince is standing behind his father, looking bashful.

"My apologies, Your Grace...ces..." Arya says, unsure how to pluralize.

The King bursts laughing.

"Aha! What a girl, Ned! She'll be a right woman once she's grown!" He exclaims.

"Have you flowered yet?" Cersei asks.

Arya blushes fiercely, but before she can even reply, the Prince does for her.

"Yes." He says, without thinking.

Immediately all eyes turn on Gendry. Cersei looks appalled, the King slightly proud, Ned confused and Arya furious. Gendry himself has flushed brighter than a maiden.

"Well, the wedding can be any day now!" Robert declares.

"No! Your Grace, please. I do not wish to be Queen. That is Sansa's dream. She's the one who wishes for gorgeous Princes and royal babies." Arya explains.

"No matter, girl. You must wed my son. I swear it before the old gods and the new." The King says, sterner than Arya's ever seen him.

There is silence for a few moments.

"Let it end better than the first." The King concludes, before dismissing Arya and Gendry.

Arya feels hopeless and trapped, which fuels her anger toward everyone, including Prince Gendry.

"What in the Seven Hells is wrong with you!?!" She turns on Gendry as soon as they've turned into a new corridor.

"I-" before he can even reply, Arya is speaking again.

"How did you know I've flowered?" She exclaims.

This question he can't answer right away.

She grabs his shirt front, the fury building up recklessly in her small body. She wishes she could break him, but he's much too big.

"How?" She demands.

"When I saw you, you looked a woman grown." He admits, the red creeping up his virgin neck.

Arya is stunned. "I looked a woman grown?" She scoffs. "You're a pig, just like all the rest!"

"I'm sorry, but you are more beautiful than you think, Arya." He growls, sincerely.

"You just shut up!" She cries. "You stupid, bull-headed boy."

"A stupid, bull-headed boy you have to marry!" He exclaims back.

"I don't want to!" She says.

"That doesn't matter!"

"Burn in hell!"

"Only if you're not there!"

"I will slit your throat while you sleep in your bed!"

"And how do you expect to get into my bed?" He demands.

"I'll fuck you with my 'woman grown' body, and then I'll slit your throat with your own blade." She bites back.

"You haven't got the balls!"

"No, but I've got the tits to make up for it! You should know!"

Suddenly, there's a loud, interrupting cough coming from Arya's left, at the other end of the corridor.

Both flushed bright red, Arya and Gendry turn to the person who made the noise.

Cersei, King Robert and Arya's father stand, viewing their scuffle.

"Ah, a lover's quarrel, I think!" King Robert guffaws.

"Arya, I think you should go back to your chambers. Tell Sansa we will be dining with King Robert and his family tonight." Ned orders.

"Yes, Father. Your Grace, Your Grace, Your Grace." She bows to the King, Queen and Prince in turn, her cherry red cheeks burning as she strides away.


	5. Arya Bares It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya must attend another meal with the royal family. How could anything go wrong?

"I should be the one marrying Prince Gendry, not you! I'm the eldest!" Sansa whines as a hand maid brushes through her hair.

"Sansa, you know if I could give you the stupid betrothal I would. Now just shut up." Arya snaps, a hand maid scrubbing her skin raw.

"It's just not fair."

"Shut. Up." Arya demands.

Sansa huffs. As Arya is helped out of the bath, two hand maids dry her off.

"Hey, at least you got a new dress." Arya points out, nodding to the silky southern styled gowns on their bed.

"Mines not nearly as grown up as yours," she whines.

"Just because mines supposed to look more womanly doesn't mean it will." Arya rolls her eyes. "Even if I had the finest gown and you were wrapped up in a shapeless sack, you'd still look better than me."

"But look!" Sansa cries, pulling away from the brush to hold up the gowns. They're both made of flowing, breezy silk that will surely feel much better than the thick Northern gowns they arrived in.

Sansa's is much longer, and the same blue as her eyes. There's a small v cut to just below her breasts, tied there with a ribbon.

Arya's is a lame green colour, like moss. There's a massive v cut down to her waist, covered with a thin layer of barely there golden myrish lace.

"At least you won't look like a whore." Arya notes.

"I'd rather look like a whore than a child."

I'd rather look like a child than a 'woman grown', Arya thinks.

Arya's hair is braided in the northern style, and before she puts on her gown, one of the hand maids go to douse perform on her. They put a dab on either wrist, behind her ears, and go to dab them on her breasts and sex.

Arya stops them.

"But you are betrothed, m'lady. You don't want to be appealing to your Prince?" They ask.

"Not particularly."

\------

Arya can feel many eyes on her in the smaller room for smaller feasts. There is only one table. King Robert sits at the head of it, with Ned on the other end.

On either side of Robert is Gendry and Cersei, and at Ned's end, Catelyn and Sansa flank him. Joffrey is by Cersei, with Myrcella between him and Sansa.

Arya is between Gendry and Tommen.

And of the nine people she eats with, seven pairs of eyes flit to her every other moment. Cersei watches with a bit of jealousy, and Sansa with a lot. Catelyn (having definitely heard from Ned of Arya and Gendry's conversation) shares the same look of discomfort as Ned. Joffrey watches with the disgruntled look he almost always has. The King watches her with lust for her long dead aunt, and Gendry can only bear to watch her fingers whenever they reach for her now empty wine goblet.

There is scarce conversation, aside from the occasional call for the wine skin, usually by King Robert, sometimes by Cersei, and once or twice by Arya.

"I think that is enough wine, Arya." Ned says after her second cup.

"Oh, come one Ned! Let the girl drink what she wants! I'm sure enough wine will unleash the wolf!" The King guffaws.

"Did I say how beautiful you look tonight, Arya? The ghost of Lyanna." The King says, for the fifth time. His eyes linger on the v that reveals too much of her budding breasts, for the fifteenth time.

"Yes, father, you said it about twenty times." Gendry replies for her.

The King only laughs.

\-------

When the food draws to an end, Arya is the first to rise and beg to be excused.

"Of course! Let me escort you to your chambers," the King slurs.

"I doubt you could make it up the stairs, father." Gendry replies. "I'll do it."

"I can make it myself, thank you, Your Grace," Arya nods.

"Nonsense! Gendry shall do it, if I can't." The King insists.

Gendry nods, and allows Arya to clasp his elbow.

"Don't go stealing her maiden hood so soon before the wedding!" The King calls after them. "I myself know how hard it can be to hide a big belly!"

Arya's fingers clench into a tight fist.

Gendry's drags her out of there immediately, rushing her to the stairs.

"You're father is worse than you." Arya says.

"You know, saying that is probably treason."

"Shut up. He's always looking at me." She mutters. "S'not like this bloody whore's garb helped any."

Gendry turns and scans her quickly.

"I think he might've picked that out." Gendry notes.

"Well have you bloody seen it? I'm only four and ten, you know! I'm not meant to have breasts enough to fill this." Arya whines.

Gendry looks over at her again.

"You do alright."

Arya punches his arm hard.

"That was no invitation to look at my chest!" Arya cries. Gendry flushes.

"Well you shouldn't wear gowns like that then!" He replies, half joking.

"Shut. Up." Arya growls, still trying to pull the material of the v closer together.

She has the mossy material tight and almost touching over the thin lace, then gives up, thinking it a lost cause. She lets the taut material fling back to its original place, and as it does, there's a loud rip, as the Myrish lace gives up. It rips almost all the way down to the start of the v, leaving no support for the small sleeves.

Arya squeaks, gripping the broken dress in place as the sleeves slide off her shoulders.

"Seven hells!" Arya cries.

"What did you do now?" Gendry turns as he reaches the top of the stairs, looking down on her as she desperately covers herself.

"I didn't do anything!" She lies.

"Well, it can't have ripped all on its own!"

She fumes, storming up the stairs past him, with her hands crossed protectively.

"It's thinner than hair! Of course it can!"

"I thought you were just complaining about not having enough material, and now you've gone and stripped yourself!" Gendry replies, grinning slightly.

Arya punches him hard and swift, re catching her teat before he can see.

"I hate you." She murmurs, turning back around and storming to her chambers, Gendry on her heels.

"You hate me because your gown ripped? That's hardly fair."

"No, not fair is having to marry the stupidest Prince to ever live!" Arya retorts. She sees her chamber door, left unguarded, like the entire corridor. She reaches the door, her hands still protecting her torn dress. Gendry is a step behind her, and he turns her shoulder not unkindly, so her back is almost against her door.

"Do you think I want to marry you either?" He scoffs, a safe foot away from her.

"You're a virgin, you'll surely take whatever you can get!" Arya snaps.

His face flushes the deepest shade of red yet.

"Just because I haven't bedded a woman doesn't make you any more appealing!"

"Oh really? Because I'm sure if I dropped my hands right now, you'd be hard as a rock before you can blink!"

And apparently he can get redder.

"That's not true-" before either of them can think, Arya's dropped her hands.

With the movement, both of her silky sleeves drop around her elbows, pulling the v taut again, near her belly button. Arya's breasts have been budding for over a year, and have become round, milky white things Gendry's immediately convinced would fit perfectly in his palms.

He gulps, eyes inadvertently attached to Arya's chest. She can't help flushing as she notices a strain against Gendry's breeches, but she covers it up with a smirk. He drags his eyes away from her teats, trying to watch her face, but can't help flickering his eyes to the two perfect mounds every second.

Arya thinks of a million rude quips to sting him with, but before she can say a word, she hears loud clopping boots approaching from a joining corridor.

Instead, she does a crude, rushed curtesy, whispering, "Your Grace," with a nod.

Then she sweeps into her chambers, the door shutting quietly behind her.


	6. Arya's Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya attends the Tourney of the Hand

The tourney of the Hand was almost in full swing when Arya and Sansa went down to sit in the stands near the King. Sansa was beyond happy, excited to see all the handsome knights, and hoping to get crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Arya was much more sour. She wanted to be one of the Knights, chopping down opponents ruthlessly and fighting to the brink of death, getting her blood pumping and practicing her swordsmanship after so much time away from Needle. 

She hadn't spoken to the suddenly shy Prince for two days. This didn't exactly upset Arya, but it still concerned her. She thought that maybe he'd gone off and found some whore to get a disgusting disease from. And as much as she disliked the idea of it, Arya knew she'd have to bed the Prince on their wedding night, and any diseases he'd caught, she'd have before the next morning.

Sansa had been begged by many knights for a favour to bring them luck in the tourney. She'd brought a special blue handkerchief from Winterfell for that reason. In the end, rumor spread around that she'd given it to Sandor Clegane, The Hound, of all people.

Arya didn't even have to ask her sister's confirmation on the rumor before she saw the blue favor tied around the hilt of the dog's massive long sword.

Catelyn explained to Arya that she should offer a favour to her betrothed. It was expected of her. He'd likely be offended if she didn't. Arya didn't care.

Alas, just before her and Sansa reached the benches, Arya heard an unwelcome voice behind her.

"Lady Arya."

She turned and saw Gendry.

"If I could speak with you for a moment," he suggested.

"Of course, Your Grace." Arya replied, feeling the need to play her part better out in front of the people of King's Landing. She also was suddenly at a lost for one of her usual quips, distracted by thoughts of the look on Gendry's face two nights ago when she had revealed herself to him. 

He led her to a small tent, in which all of his armor was laid out.

"What do you want?" Arya asks as soon as they get inside.

"I wish to beg a favor from you, to bring me luck in the tourney." He explains.

Arya couldn't help but scoff.

"If you're going against The Hound and Sansa's luck, my favor will do nothing." She explains.

"Seven hells, Arya," Gendry groans, giving up on his Princely act.

"I have no glove or veil or handkerchief to offer you, anyway." Arya shrugs.

"The ribbon in your hair!" He suggests.

"You can have it, if you can get it out. My handmaid knotted into my hair like a life line." Arya spins around.

She's a little less than a foot shorter than Gendry, so at a perfect height for him to untangle the red ribbon from her hair.

"Sorry. Did that hurt? Just tell me if I'm tugging to hard." Gendry mutters as he goes about it.

Arya rolls her eyes. Soon, he has the ribbon separated. Arya's hair cascades down her shoulders.

"Do I have to do anything with it? Kiss it or enchant it or something?" Arya asks, unsure.

"Just tie it round my hammer, if you could." He suggests, beginning to pull on his mail.

She ties it in a messy knot. When she looks over, Gendry's attempting to buckle his armour.

"Don't you have a squire?" Arya cocks an eyebrow.

"Yes, but he's later than Walder Frey." He replies.

"Here," Arya mutters. "Let me do it,"

She strides across the small tent, doing his buckles like any squire would.

"I think you'd be a better squire than you will be a wife." Gendry nods once she's done.

Arya's stomach always flips uncomfortably when the word wife is mentioned.

"And I can only hope you'll be a better King than a husband someday," she retorts.

"Oi! You know I'll be a phenomenal husband. I'm a Prince. It's in the job description." He smirks.

Arya rolls her eyes but laughs despite herself.

"I think this is the first time we've had a conversation without yelling at each other." Gendry notes.

"Or talk of my breasts."

At that, Gendry flushes slightly. He leans and grabs his hammer, weighing it in his hand, before scanning Arya.

"I think you'll make a good Queen of Love and Beauty." He grins. Arya's face drops.

"Gendry, if you crown me, I will geld you." She growls.

"I thought I had no chance of winning anyway?"

"Knowing you, you'll win just to spite me."

Gendry guffaws loudly.

"Gendry, if you do win, you have to promise me you WON'T crown me the Queen of Love and Beauty." Arya demands.

"What do I get out of that?" He cocks an eyebrow.

"You get to NOT be gelded." She growls.

"Why don't you want to be the Queen of Love and Beauty?" He asks.

"Because, it'll just be an opportunity for Sansa to hold it over my head and everything will just be awful. So just don't, okay?"

Gendry pauses. "Okay." He nods.

"Thank you." Arya breathes. She takes a swift step forward and brushes her lips against Gendry's hammer. "Good luck, Stupid."


	7. Arya is Furious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya waits to let the Prince really get what he deserves after the tourney

After unseating everyone he came to joust against, Gendry was up for the final round against Sandor Clegane.

Sansa's blue handkerchief has been transferred to The Hound's grey jousting stick from his longsword, and Arya's red ribbon is tied in a pretty bow around Gendry's yellow jousting stick.

After the Prince being nearly unseated thrice, Arya and Sansa were on the edge of their seats.

Gendry got comfortable again as he rode to the end of the list. When he charged this time, he dodged the Hound's stick and jammed the dog with his own.

Clegane tumbled off his horse surprisingly gracefully. Sansa yelped, and tried to cover it up with a cough.

The crowds cheered heartily for Gendry.

He was handed a crown made of winter roses, and looked very guilty as he made his way toward Arya.

She glowered dangerously at him, trying to change his mind and make it Sansa he was about to crown.

Arya squished back in her seat, cowering away from the crown. Gendry set it carefully on her dark brown hair anyway, and the crowd erupted in cheers of adoration.

Arya glared at his retreating back, wishing she could take his jousting stick and shove it right up his-

\------

She tried to act normally the rest of the day. She couldn't see the Prince, as he was washing and preparing for the feast and ball to come. Arya just let herself get riled up and ready to loose her anger on the stupid Prince when she next saw him.

The prep for this feast was a little different. She was scrubbed in a tub with scented flowers and oils. A handmaid gave her a neat plait, leaving the rest down and wavy.

A grey dress awaited her. The corset was stuffy and tight, once again made to compliment her breasts. The rest of the material was breezy, with long sleeves that nearly touched the floor when her arms were at her sides made of silk. The handmaid had already scented her breasts and sex before she even noticed this time, which helped fuel her hate.

This feast was smaller, and had dancing.

Arya found herself knocking back a glass of strong Dornish wine, which stung her nose turned her off of wine for the rest if the night. Sansa danced with many different partners, but the first to ask Arya was her father, and he left the extravagant feast not long after.

The King was the second to ask her for a dance. He held her close and only called her by her aunt's name. Arya squirmed against his strong grip. His words (slurred as they were) began to grow heated. He said strings of words that made Arya want to scream, and turn him into a hairless eunuch.

Suddenly she started to feel a hardness against her belly button. His large, strangely soft hands were too low for comfort. She had to tell herself repeatedly that he was the King. He was the King. He was the King. At such an event as this, it was best to not draw attention.

When his palm gave a squeeze to her butt, she simply couldn't handle it. She shoved at his chest, pushing away. Even his drunken grip was stronger than hers though. She tried to tell him the song was over, but he heeded no words.

"Lyanna. I have yet to see your pretty cunt." He whispered to her.

Just as she was about to lose her temper, someone stepped in, pulling the groping King away, and practically sending him to bed.

The stupid Prince.

"You." She snarls.

"Come along." He orders, pulling her into a dancing position, before briskly twirling her out of the long hall unnoticed by any guests.

"I-!" She begins. He cuts her off with a hand over her mouth.

"Just save your words for a few more moments." He demands, leading her through the red keep.

They reach a series of long corridors after long corridors, all empty besides one cat. Gendry reaches his destination, pulling Arya into a small bed chamber with a large balcony.

"What is this place?" She asks.

"My chambers. I needed to bring you somewhere you could shout your head off without drawing any attention." He explains.

"Well that's good, now no one will hear your pathetic wails as I turn you into a ball-less eunuch!" She exclaims.

"Seriously? It's just a crown made of flowers." He shakes his head.

"You promised me you wouldn't!" She declares.

"I didn't promise anything!" He replies.

"Why couldn't you crown Sansa?!"

"I can't very well crown my future wife's sister!"

"What about your sister, or the Queen or some random whore?"

"I thought you'd be happy!"

"I TOLD you I didn't want to be the Queen of Love and Beauty!"

"I thought you were being coy like NORMAL ladies!"

"I'M NOT A LADY!" Arya bellows, aiming a solid punch into his shoulder.

He catches her hand as she tries to pull away. She shoves a foot between his legs, tripping him, but he pulls her down with him.

They roll on the floor, Arya punching wherever she can, until the Prince is laughing at her futile attempts, making her that much angrier.

With a solid twist, Gendry rolls on top of Arya, pinning her wrists down on either side of her head. He tangles his legs between hers, to prevent her knee from coming up to meet his groin.

"Are you done?" Gendry demands, a smile on his lips.

She scowls up at him, panting heavily, which creates a distraction as her supported breasts rise and fall with her lungs. Her grey eyes are filled with anger, and excitement.

"Damn you, Gendry." She growls.

His dark hair is falling forward, but Arya can still see his ridiculously bright blue eyes clearly. The ripples in his arms distract her momentarily, and she's hit with the feeling that this boy is a man, of nine and ten. Sooner or later, he will be hers and she will be his.

"I'm not going to apologize, you know." Gendry explains. "It's your fault for not being normal."

"What is that suppose to mean?" Arya snaps.

"This whole marriage thing could be much easier if your were some dumb lady who liked crowns."

"I don't want to get married any more than you do," she frowns. He chuckles.

"You know, every time you do something so unusual and so Arya, shouting at me or calling me stupid or talking like a little lady shouldn't be talking, you're becoming more and more dangerous."

"How am I becoming dangerous?" She scoffs.

"Because at some point, you'll just have to call me a stupid, bull-headed boy one more time, and I'll be in love with you."

Arya freezes underneath him, her thoughts swirling rapidly in her brain and freezing all at once. 

"And if the King of Westeros is as in love with Arya Stark as I'll be, then the Ruler of the Realm will be ruled by a wild little girl."

Arya can feel her heart beating ridiculously fast in her chest. She wants to rip of her corset so she can actually breath..

Prince Gendry, future King of Westeros in love with Arya Horseface? Im-fucking-possible.

His grip has loosened enough that when Arya goes to sit up, she can, and nearly smashes her forehead into Gendry's, but he sits back just in time.

'And if the King of Westeros is as in love with Arya Stark as I'll be, then the Ruler of the Realm will be ruled by a wild little girl.'...the words bounce around in Arya's brain until her eyes begin to hurt. 

Gendry appears confused and a little embarrassed when Arya looks over at him. He slowly gets up as well, clearing his throat.

"I-" he begins, but Arya cuts in.

"This is no good." She mutters. She scrambles up, nearly tripping on her own sleeves. Gendry stabilizes her with a hand on her waist, but she cringes away from the contact like she's been burned. 

Her heart is pounding radically in her throat. She feels almost betrayed. As much as she dreaded it, she never thought she would actually have to marry Gendry. He didn't want to marry her either, and Princes get what they want. He would find a more suitable woman to be Queen.

But... if Gendry DID want to marry Arya, then he would. And Arya would be the Queen of Westeros, sentenced to produce royal little black haired and blue eyes brats for the rest of her life, chained inside a castle and being ordered around.

"You can't." She declares. "You just can't."

"I can't be in love with you?" The Prince asks, taking two strides closer, eyebrows furrowed.

"No, you can't. You weren't. You aren't. You shouldn't." She shakes her head, feeling tears building up in her eyes and panic rising in her throat.

"Why not?" He demands, gripping her elbows as he stares down at her face. "Why not, Arya?"

She turns her head to the side, breath coming fast and quick as tears slide down her face.

"Because I don't want to be Queen!" She exclaims. "If you love me, I am going to be Queen. I will have to have children, and I'll be useless and I will die! Arya Stark will die!"

He looks abashed. "You'll have to marry me regardless of how I feel about you. Would you rather I despise you?"

"Yes! If you hated me as you should, and as you did, you would do anything to get out of this wretched marriage."

"I've never hated you, Arya." He says sincerely.

Her hands fly up to her face and she shoves the heels of her hands into her eyes, shaking her head. Gendry's hands slide off her elbows.

"If I was just a normal girl..." She murmurs.

"You're Arya Stark, and you're not normal and you strong enough to hold onto that. You'll be a great Queen." He says. "Hold onto Arya Stark."

"That's what I'm trying to do!" She cries, throwing her hands into the air. "I don't want to be Arya Baratheon. That name is stupid and it's yours!"

"You would be mine. And I would be yours." He mutters.

Arya pauses, still breathing hard, and chewing her lip desperately.

"I DONT WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABIES!" She suddenly screams.

Gendry looks half hurt and half amused.

"Just one? All I need is an heir. Just give birth, and I'll have it swept away by a wet nurse to be raised." He teases.

She punches his arm harshly.

"The Red Keep is just a glorified cage," she retorts.

"You can travel all over the seven kingdoms. Just come back to me." He mutters the last sentence.

"All women get orders." She tests.

"Yes, but Queens get to give double the orders they receive."

"I like to ride-"

"I'll buy you the finest Sand Steed from Dorne.

"I'll want to wear a lot of breeches-"

"I ask only that you wear CLEAN breeches."

"I want to learn how to water dan-"

"I'll hire the First Sword of Braavos."

"You know how I hate when people call me my-"

"They'll be addressing you as 'Your Grace'."

"I don't like your last name."

At that Gendry pauses, sucking in air through his teeth.

"Now, that one I simple can't fix. I can't become a Stark, and we can't parade around with different last names. If we marry, you will be of House Stark and House Baratheon." He shrugs.

Arya cocks a winning eyebrow.

"But," Gendry steps forward, so Arya has to almost completely tilt her head back to look into his eyes. The his breath is warm against her face. "I think the words of House Baratheon will suit you much better than 'winter is coming'."

For a moment, Arya draws a blank, almost forgetting her own House words even though he just spoke them. She's too enticed by his smell.

"Ours is the fury." He murmurs, ducking his head to kiss her brow.


End file.
